The Phantom's Heir
by The Coyote
Summary: Twentyfive years later a new opera house has been built, and a new phantom has taken over. Along with that Christine and Raoul Chagny's daughter is studying to become to be a singer. Will history repeat itself? R&R please.
1. Prologue

(Here's a prologue of my first Phantom of the Opera fanfic. Enjoy!)

The curtain dropped, and applause shook the rafters with hearty echoes. Dancers glided gracefully, and sopranos and baritones alike sang their hearts out. And with this musical night, hearts were fluttering with content, as if problems were lifted away and into the heavens, never to return. But, in the Paris opera house, problems found people, one way or another. But, the show must go on, and that it did. When it was done, performers drank, danced, laughed.

The perfect picture of merriment? Oh, but nay. A haunted expression was hidden in their eyes, their eyes, watching, peeking around dark corners before hurrying down them. What was it that troubled them? Well, although the first opera house had literately gone up in flames, they had rebuilt, and once more there was a golden palace for the arts. It was said among those who did not live in the dormitories of the opera house that the infamous phantom had died with the building, but there were those who had seen this ghost now twenty-five years later.

Was it the same creature, or had their been a heir to the unholy throne of Phantom? Either way, dancers crossed themselves every time they heard of the ghost, and stagehands spit over their shoulder at the sound of evil laughter.

What did this have to do with little Diane Chagny, the count's daughter? Oh, everything.

Everything. 


	2. Undiscovered Past

(I'm getting more of an idea for this story. It sounds fun to me, and I hope you all like it.) 

"Once again, little Diane. You must practice more."

The girl stamped her foot stubbornly, her dress of lilac shades shuddering around her.

"I have been. You just are too picky. With you as my maestro, I shall never get anything done!"

The man, his hair graying as he spoke, sighed and tapped his music stand with the conductor's wand once more.

"From the top, little one."

And the music started. Music. It was what little Chagny lived for, and nothing more. Without music, she would not be able to survive. Without the sound of a violin flooding her heart, she would crumple into dust! Oh, if music was a person it would have full control of her! She loved to sing! It was the one thing she would like to do all her life.

And that she did, sing so that her throat and breast vibrated with sound. She wasn't bad, but it was said behind her back that she would never be as good as her mother, Christine Daae.

The maestro, of course, could not accept that Diane would not precede her mother. He was a stubborn, wide-set man, with darting, dark eyes. So he made Diane sing over and over, refusing her request, and soon demand, for a break. Eventually, (meaning two hours later), the orchestra complained of sore fingers and breathless lungs, and Gemmé, the maestro, finally agreed for a stop.

Diane ran off the stage, or rather skipped. So innocent, she acted. At the age of fifteen she had still collected flowers and braided them into a crown. Now, at seventeen, she was as stubborn as a young one and with the heart of one as well.

Wavy brown curls bounced at her shoulders as she rushed to find her friends who had the night off. She hummed a song as she ran, a smile dancing across her face as usual. Her mother had taught her the little song, and it was her favorite already.

"Father once spoke of an angel. I used to dream he'd appear. Now as I sing I can sense him, and I know he's here!"

Much of the song made no sense to Diane, for Christine had never told her of the things that had happened when she had been at the Opera Populaire. But it was very pretty, and Diane longed to meet this angel that sang so sweetly. Perhaps he could teach her something more about singing.

In La Belle's dressing room, people gathered around one of the stagehands, one that Diane did not know the name of. He leaped forward, his face contorted in an evil grimace.

"They say his skin was the color of curdled cream and his eyes a nasty yellow color. He'd smile in a way that showed all of 'is sharp teeth! And when you were alone, he'd a go and suck yer soul right out of you, and then you were nothing more than a husk. A dry, withered husk!"

Timid dance students backed away from this imaginary apparition and the bolder, older singers giggled nervously. La Belle, the star of the opera, simply fluttered her long lashes and shooed the stagehand away.

"There was no such thing as the opera ghost. It is just a story."

A boy spoke of, one that Diane knew. His name was Adamo Giry. His mother, Meg Giry, was a close friend with Diane's mother. Of course that made she and Adamo friends as well.  
"My mother says that the phantom did exist. That was why the old opera house was destroyed. The ghost cut the rope to the chandelier and the place burned down."

There were proclamations of disbelief. Some even left the dressing room, whether because of fear or anger of telling such stories was untold.

Adamo folded his arms and shook his head, his golden-red hair falling over his eyes.

"Oh, but it's true! Ask Diane! Her mother was what started the whole thing!"

Silence descended upon the room, and all eyes were on the chorus girl. Diane, however, had no idea of what to say. She turned to Adamo.

"What do you mean?"

Adamo, surprised, leaned over from his seat on the dresser, looking into Diane's blue eyes with his own emerald ones.

"She never told you?" he whispered.

Diane shook her head. "Told me what?"

Adamo stood, going for the door. He refused to say more of what Diane did not know of.

"I think you should write to your mother and ask her to tell you. It's not my place to tell you of what happened."

Diane stood as well, deciding to head for her own bed. She ignored the calls of goodnight from her comrades, a blank expression on her face. As soon as she was back in her room, she changed into her nightgown and took a pen and inkwell and balanced it on a piece of wood she used for writing on. She placed that on her lap as she sat down in her bed, and with the dim light of the oil lamp at her beside, started writing.

Little did she know of the eyes that watched her from the shadows of the doorway.

(Woo, suspense! hehe, I'm liking this story more and more. And that means, of course, that reviews are most wanted. Thanks to the three that reviewed. I'll get around to personally responding to my reviews, but I'm too lazy at the moment.)


	3. A Past Retold

(I will now reply to reviews! Oh, and thanks you all! I feel so loved with all these reviews!)

Maska: Yes, suspense, the one thing there must be in the books I read. On I go! (trumpet sound)

Phantomess80: I shall keep going!

Emma-J-Riddle: You shall see in this chapter!

ThetrinityJ: I shall when I have time.

"Mother, you must tell me what happened!"

Diane was sitting on her small, but comfortable bed. Her mother sat in a chair across from her. After receiving the letter that demanded truth and the secret story, Christine had traveled from Perros back to Paris, and once inside this new opera house, shuddered at its likeness to the old one. Instead of writing back her chilling tale, she had come here, in fear of this information getting into the wrong hands.

Diane folded her arms and looked directly into her mother's eyes. Christine was unable to hold that gaze and looked down. Although that look was her own, she could not bear to look into it without feeling guilt.

"Why didn't you tell me? What can't you tell me?"

Christine sighed resignedly. "I feared for your safety. I'm not sure of what could harm you. Love, maybe..."

Diane looked at her mother, confusion written on her face as if she was a book.

"Love?"

Christine nodded. "When I first came to the opera house, and orphan, I used to believe and Angel of Music would come and protect me. My wish partly came true. I was about your age, when I heard the most beautiful voice, which taught me how to sing, and guided me into a dream-like happiness. Then, after my first performance when pouring out my soul, I met your father."

She paused, as if she were afraid to continue.

"But the Voice, the angelic sound that I heard in my dressing room, refused me to love your father. I eventually ran away. I had found that the Voice was nothing more than a man. An ugly deformed man of great insanity. And yet, I pitied him. But, because I stayed to try and soften my flight, the opera house lay in ruins."

And Christine told her daughter the whole story, every agonizing detail.

"One day, after your father and me were married, Erik appeared at my door. He wore no mask. He told about how they were building a new opera house across the street from the place where the old one had been. He also told me of how at night he would build an exact replica of his house and torture chambers."

Diane interrupted. "Why would he tell you? And how could he manage to come and see you, after all of that?"

Her mother shrugged. "I suppose he just needed to tell someone. But, he told me, that he would no longer play role of the Phantom. No, he said that it was not his theatre, So, he left all of his musical works there for someone to stumble on. He also told me... of something else."

Diane was at the edge of her bed, longing to hear more of this story.

"What, what did he say?"

"Well, I'm not sure what he meant, but he said that the Phantom would come back reborn, whether he liked it or not... That's exactly what he said."

The story was finished. Christine sighed, leaning back in her chair. She hadn't spoke of her past since it had happened.

Diane's eyes were wide, and she gasped with pure amazement.

"I though that the opera ghost was just a story to tell the little ballerinas to frighten them! I never thought that he was a real person..."

Christine nodded. "He was, but he disappeared after he spoke with me. He had said that like there would be a new phantom... an heir of sorts."

Diane shrugged. "But I still don't understand what you couldn't have told me."

"I didn't want this to happen to you! If the phantom returns, I fear for your health! Now that you know, you must be very careful."

Diane nodded, embracing her mother tenderly as she felt her shake with fear.

"Don't worry. I'll be careful. Don't worry." 


	4. A Helpful Wolf for Erik

(before I reply to reviews, i have to say something. I am an excellent liar, I just need to say this: When I started this fanfic, i wasn't even finished with the book. I just finished it today (and what a good book it was!) but I have to say something: I think I shall base this fanfic more on the movie than on the book, because the little things I have said cannot be remedied so easily. Like for example, in the book, Erik died three weeks after Christine and Raoul had run away. I was thinking more along the lines of months, based on the fanfics i have read... (I'm not pointing fingers at anybody!) Unfortunately, I would have to change the basic story line too much to have it lean more toward the book. So, I'll just leave it the way it was. I just wanted you all to know that. Whoo, my conscience is cleared!) 

MIDNIGHT-PIXIE: Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Teya Yashitoda: I would love to, but you didn't give me your full email address. What comes after ?

angel of mystery: I think I will. Thanks!

Phantom of the Fuedal Era: I noticed that in my summary, but I guess I forgot that I had written fifty in the prologue. It has been fixed. Thanks for pointing that out!

Phantomsheart: Thanks. I'll try, but I'm kinda winging it at the moment, so Im not sure what happens too far ahead!

On with the story!)

And what of this heir? Would Erik's plans go well? There was no need to ponder over this question. It had already happened.

Erik, being the madman he was, did not want his rein of terror to slacken even though he was dead. It would be too much work to come back as a real ghost, if that was at all possible. He was just going to have to find an heir. It would be easy. He had a plan. Before he died, he traveled much, stopping once to visit Christine and her young husband to tell her of his plan.

One day, far from Paris, he sat to rest upon an empty field. There were sheep grazing not far away, and a young shepherd boy sitting under a tree. the boy had not seen Erik. The ex-ghost watched with growing curiousity. The boy was nervous, that was obvious. He looked from side to side, tapping his staff against the ground with a beat that was kept perfectly in time. The dog beside him sat up, growling, then barking monstrously. Erik turned to look in the direction the dog was howling, and saw a wolf. It was rabid, for sure. Foam dripped from its open maw, and it would stop, look around as if confused, then charge once more. The boy, not knowing what to do, ordered the dog to attack the wolf.

Loyal to his master, the little collie attempted a go at the massive wolf. It stood no chance. In a giant sweep of the wolf's neck, it bit down hard on the dog's neck and the poor mutt's life seeped away with its blood.

The boy now was very frightened, but he couldn't let his sheep die. It was his duty to protect them. Without this job his mother would be very angry with him. So he stepped forward, waving his stick about to try and scare the wolf away.

Now, a normal wolf would have shied away long before, but this wolf was diseased and rabid, and reason had disappeared. Before Erik's eyes the wolf attacked the little boy.

Erik was there in a flash, and he pulled the Punjab lasso around the wolf's neck quickly. He yanked the beats away from the boy and broke its neck in a matter of seconds.

The boy was laying on the ground, blood pouring from one side of his face. It seemed that fortunately the wolf had clawed his face instead of biting him, which would have passed the rabies to him. Erik knelt down beside the boy, wiping away the blood gently with a rag.

"What is your name?" he asked gently, kindly. He had his mask on, and the boy wasn't too frightened.

"Oliver, monsieur."

Erik thought about it for a moment. It was a nice name, he decided after a bit.

"Come, let me bandage your face."

Oliver sat up, and Erik dabbed at his face ever so gently. His whole right side was cut and bloodied, and that side's eye would not open.

"Can you open your eye, Oliver?"

The little boy gasped in pain as his whole faced twitched at the task of opening that eye. Erik smiled sadly when he saw that eye. It was torn. He would never be able to see through it again.

After he had tied his handkerchief around he held out his hand to help the little boy up.

"How old are you, Oliver?"

"I'm five, monsieur."

"Do you like music?"

Oliver's face lit up, and he smiled despite the pain in his face.

"Oh, yes! Very much! I don't get to sing very much, though... my mother doesn't like it."

Erik smiled secretly. "She shouldn't do that. Would you like to go somewhere where you can sing anytime you like? I could teach you how to play the harp, and the violin."

Oliver jumped up and down, now very excited. "Oh, I would love to, monsieur! But would my mother allow it? And who will watch the sheep?"

Erik gently took the boy's hand.

"I'm sure she won't mind. As for the sheep, someone else will care for them. Don't worry."

And so Erik took the boy to the new opera house and showed him all of the secret passageways. He started him on the violin, and gave him brief singing lessons. But before long, Erik's sick heart could barely go on, and he had to die soon. By now Oliver was blossoming well, and his musical talents were unbelievable. He reminded Erik of a young him.

And so Erik had an heir, and that heir was to guard Don Juan Triumphant above all else. Above all else except his heart. Erik's lasts words to Oliver were advice. Advice that was ignored.

"Do not give your heart to anyone, little one. A did once, and it ended in madness and sorrow. Keep to yourself, and improve this opera house in small ways. But never, ever fall in love."

That advice had been forgotten as soon as Oliver saw Diane.

(done. One more thing: I've been thinking of the movie's Erik, and not the more horrible ghost that is from the book. Just wanted you to know.)


	5. Wine, Kisses, and Tears

(I'm losing people! Aah! Please, people, the reviews are what keep me alive! Don't kill me! Just because I've only gotten like 3 reviews this time I'm not responding. So there! Hmph! Oh, and there is some fluff in this chapter. beware!) 

Dian was running down an endless corridor, the darkness around her smothering and choking. Laugher echoed off the walls and swarmed her head. Finally she was able to come to a halt at the end of the long hallway. But, there was nothing there! Just a wall, no door to pass through. All her work had been for nothing! Suddenly one person's laughter stood out the most. She turned around to see the dark figure of a man before her. A mask covered his face, but one eyes glimmered from behind it. He laughed even more loudly and grabbed Diane by the shoulder, shaking her roughly. Laughing, always laughing so cruely.

"You belong to me now, Diane! Diane!"

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Diane woke with a start. Adamo was standing over her, his nose close to touching her own. He was shaking her shoulder gently, and whispering in her ear.

"Time to get up, sleepy. It's already noon."

Diane bolted upright, but she still breathing heavily. The nightmare still flooded her mind.

"Adamo, what time did you say!"

Adamo rolled his eyes and stood up straight again. "I said it was noon! I've never known someone who could sleep so long!"

Diane jumped out of bed, racing around the room and grabbing bits and pieces of clothing from around the room. "Why didn't you wake me? You should've woken me up! I'm late for practice! Gemmé will be furious!"

Adamo sighed before grabbing the frantic girl by the wrist.

"I would've woke you up if I needed to. Gemmé is ill today, and you have the day off. Did you think I was slacking on my duties?"

Adamo was the only one that could wake Diane in the mornings. Oh, maids and other ballerinas had tried. But they were sent away with curses that they said were very unlady-like.

Adamo held up a wicker-basket and shrugged guiltily.

"I thought we could go sit on the roof of the opera house and have a picnic, but if you would rather do something else..."

He trailed off and Diane giggled. "Alright, but could you let me get dressed first?"

Adamo blushed furiously, only just then remembering that he was standing in front of a young girl in nothing but her night clothes.

"R-right, sorry. Meet me at the top of the grand staircase, then."

Diane laughed to herself once Adamo was out of the room. She quickly got dressed and brushed her hair rapidly. After she slipped on the light ballerina shoes she raced out of the room and into the hall.

At the foot of the grand staircase were some of the young ballerinas chatting and enjoying their day off. They giggled and argued, waving their hands to show what they meant.

"You don't understand! Roses are romantic! They're the flower that was made just so mean could give them to their lovers!"

Another young girl, Adeline, shook her head and stomped her foot.

"It doesn't matter what kind of flower," she said, "It should be the woman's favorite. Mine is a tulip. They are so pretty. I would want a tulip more than a rose."

This caused more arguing, but Adeline looked up at Diane.

"What is your favorite flower?" she asked, looking up with big brown eyes.

Diane thought for a moment. She had never given that much thought.

"Lilies, I guess. I like lilies."

The girls nodded and continued with their heated discussion on which flower was best to present to a lover.

Adamo smiled as Diane approached and picked up the wicker basket.

"Are you ready? It's a long way from here to the roof."

Diane nodded and followed Adamo, who lead the way. he looked behind to make sure she was following.

"I was able to nick a bottle of wine from the cellars. It should be very good."

Diane smiled and even laughed. It was very brave of him to try and steal wine from the cellars. The old man who guarded the cellars from people just like Adamo always carried a whip.

The went up many spiraling staircases and through many empty hallways that had walls covered in strange and colourful masks that were used for the operas. Finally they came to a large, heavy wooden door with a large latch. Adamo lifted it up and pushed mightily, and the door groaned open.

A gust of cool autumn air brushed against Diane's face and she sighed wistfully. It had been such a long time since she had been outside of the opera house.

She raced over to the edge of the roof, and looked downward at the new automobiles and all the people going about their day. She then looked at one of the large statues of god-like men riding horses with magnificent wings. It was sight to remember, and without knowing it, she was standing in the same place her mother had stood in so many years ago.

Adamo did not even gaze down, but climbed up one of the statues to sit behind the stone man. He set down to basket and opened it. Diane sat at the foot of the statue and took the bread and cheese that was offered, eating lightly and taking in the landscape.

Soon Adamo opened the wine bottle and took a large swig from the rim. He handed it downward and Diane took it in her hands. She peered inside to see the red liquid sloshing around. She gulped, then took a small sip. It was her first time drinking wine, and probably her last. It burned her throat, and left a strange sensation on her tongue. She shook her head, then handed it back up to Adamo. He shrugged, then took another large gulp.

This was how it went for the next half of an hour, Adamo eating and drinking the wine, while Diane politely refused the alcohol and ate silently. Then Adamo set the wind bottle down on the ground. Diane gazed at it, and realized that there was only a small amount left. had Adamo drunk all of that? She gazed up at him, and he smiled foolishly.

"You know, the gaze is rather nice up here. Beautiful even. Up here on the horse I mean. Its pretty down where you are too, I suppose." He giggled, and Diane felt the slightest amount of fear rise up her throat and mingle with the remaining feeling of the wine.

But, she complied, taking Adamo's outstretched hand. She sat in front of him and behind the stone man, so that the young man's hands wrapped around her waist to keep her steady. He pointed out at the city of Paris.

"See, you can see for miles here. Beautiful, isn't it?"

Diane nodded, feeling oddly uncomfortable. What was it she was feeling?

Adamo had grown quiet, his drunken murmurings finally faded away. He was staring at her, and she shifted uncomfortably. With the gentlest hands, Adamo turned Diane so that they were facing each other. Diane stared back, the only thing she could do. After each passing moment, their faces seemed to draw closer and closer, until finally, after what seemed to Diane to be ages, Adamo's lips touched hers ever so lightly, like a moth landing on a small flower. Soon they were wrapped in each other's embrace, having found the joys of a first kiss.

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As shadows passed over the roof the two new lovers lied in their embrace. But, behind a statue of a horse with no rider, stood a figure who seemed to be nothing more than a shadow. His head was hung, and his face was shadowed. Black hair fell around his face in pieces, and one ear was pierced with a strange silvery material.

His eyes at the moment were shadowed, but a drop of liquid fell from the left eye. A tear? Was this man crying? He stayed as he was, his shoulders shaking in silent sobs. But he stopped abruptly. This was not the time. He turned once more to look at the couple before turning and opening a door hidden behind on of the horses, only a gleaming, teary eye showing in all of that darkness.

(Aaaah, I'm sorry I haven't responded in a while. I lostmy inspiration, my obsession with the PotO. But it's back, and with a vengeance. It's not as strong, but I have a feeling it will last longer. Yeah, that's it. Anyways, reviews are wanted most desperately.

Oliver: -nods furiosuly- Please... she kicks me if there's not a lot of reviews... -softly- help me...)


	6. Oliver's Past and Plans

(You're right, and I'm sorry, You both said the same thing, so I'm combining a response for you both:

I'm sorry I was rude... Bad day I guess. But I'm better now. And thanks for the kind reviews, even if I was a jerk.

Oli: -nods head- You tell 'em. Now I want to see some groveling.

Ali: At them or you?

Oli: Both sounds good.

Ali: -sighs and bows down low to Oliver- Alright. -turns and bows to reviewers- Happy now?

Oli: -smiles happily- Very.

Oliver sighed and pounded a sharp note on the organ. He could not think straight. Ever since he had seen what he saw... He growled, unable to cry anymore, for he used his last tear hours ago. He pounded once more on his master's organ before standing and pacing. What did he have to do? What should he do? Ever since he had seen her so long ago she had not left his overworked mind.

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Oliver loved to climb in the high parts of the stage as sopranos rehearsed their parts for the next opera. He would stand way up high where no one could see him and drop mice down. It became a game. If he got the mice on the soprano's head, he won the game and no men would come to get him. But if it landed elsewhere, the soprano had better scream in the next five seconds otherwise the game was over and the men wouldcome and get himand kill him because his face was so ugly.

He was doing just this when the maestro was stopped and a man with a small girl next to him stepped onto the stage. The man had dark blond hair and had a protecting hand on the girl's shoulder. It was the girl that caught Oliver's attention most. She was so... pretty. So unlike all the little ballerinas that fluttered across the stage clumsily. He watched her intently from above as she was introduced as Mademoiselle Diane Chagny and she wanted to be a chorus girl in the opera house. The man was her father, Monsieur Raoul Chagny, one of the most important patrons of the opera house. The manager, Hien, immediately agreed to let her stay, and even gave her one of the better dorms. Oliver was delighted to hear this, because there was a secret passage that led to that room through a mirror.

And so began his life as someone who would watch as young Diane danced and sang and went about her life as a ballerina. He would make sure that he did not play his game of Mice when she was around, and even once saved her from a loose piece of stage that had been laying precariously up in the rafters. He became obsessed, and longed for her voice, but mostly to only touch her. Oh, he wanted that so! To stroke her soft, warm skin and to bury his face in what he imagined as honey-smelling hair.

But, Erik had told him so... No woman wanted to spend her life with a monster! Oliver grieved for days, weeks, thinking that he could never actually meet Diane. After all those years of doting and dreaming. And then when he saw Diane and that stage-rat canoodling on the rooftop he felt more sorrow than he had ever felt for all his life as a phantom.

And so Oliver made a mask. It was to be different from Erik's. Oh, he had seen that piece of white porcelain. But that was meant for the left side of his face. It was his right side that had been mauled and blinded oh so long ago. And so he stole pieces of cloth from the costume designer's room, and began to put together a thin, black mask that covered his nose and most of his face. There was only one eyehole, for who wanted to see the eye that could not see? A thin ribbon was tied at each end, and was long enough to go around his head comfortably. When it was done, Oliver put on the mask and went to look into the dusty mirror that he had always feared. As he stood in front of it, Oliver was surprised to see that he looked rather handsome.

No ugliness showed through the mask and his face, though pale, had a gentle look to it. he smiled for the first time in months, and decided that maybe Diane would prefer him to that Adamo. What kind of name is that, anyways? Oliver pondered this as he watched Diane through her routine. How could he meet her? And then it came to him. She was always singing to herself about an Angel. One of Music. Could that be the answer? It seemed that this Angel came to teach how sing to someone who deserved it. Could Oliver pose as this Angel?

The new idea made Oliver shiver with excitement and his brilliant mind began to plan how he could start this. In stories a person or creature that beared gifts would come at night, or in the person's sleep. This sounded like a good start.

And so Oliver began to get ready to meet Diane... sort of. he couldn't come to her face to face. No Angel would do that. And so, he began thinking some more. The mirror! He could sing to her from behind to mirror! Oh, he could imagine her delight and wonder already! But what would he sing?

Oliver sighed, and began to piece together bits of sheet music that Erik had left behind. It would be a lot of work, but he would make sure that Diane would be happy.

(Ali: Oh, I think this is a good chapter. It is short, mind you, but I think it describes Oliver's character more. he was kinda dark and mysterious before, and not the young, troubled mind I have pictured.

Oliver: -nods- Yeah, you've got me down to a point. How'd you know all that?

Ali: I made you up, remember?

Oli: -nods slowly- Oh yeah... right. You kinda forget when you're the one made up... Thanks for making me depressed. I'm nothing more than a figment of some hopeless romantic 14-year-old girl.

Ali: -shoves Oliver into a closet- He needs a timeout. You can come back when you're feeling more happy and ready to sing. You'll be doin' some of that in the next chapter.

Oli: -muffled shouts-)


	7. The Hidden Angel

(Now I'm really getting into this story. If Diane doesn't get Oliver I want him for myself...

Oli: -glances over nervously and blushes- Awww, I feel loved. -gives a great hug-

Ali: -swoons- Ooh, that only makes it worse. Quick, to the writer's cave! I must type some more before I go into a veggie stupor! Oh, and thanks for the review, MIDNIGHT-PIXIE.)

Diane was singing. Once more her mother had taught her more of the Angel of Music song at a visit to home. Oh, it was so beautiful!

"Angel of Music, hide no longer. Secret and strange Angel!"

She was sitting in her dorm, running a brush through her burgundy wavy hair, for she had nothing better to do. It was twilight, and everyone had finished their supper and were sleepily talking or actually sleeping. Diane was alone, and she enjoyed the but of silence between visits from Adamo. She paused for a moment, closing her eyes in ecstasy as she remembered his touch.

Something knocked against her wall. Diane froze, straining to hear anything more. When nothing came, she sighed and even laughed a little.

"Just a mouse..." she whispered to herself.

But all was quiet now. Everyone had gone to sleep. Diane watched as some strange gust of wind flew from her open door and all of her candles went out. The opera house could not afford electric lighting at the moment.

Now she was scared. What was going on? Diane stood, ready to run for her life away from her room and to Adamo. Surely he would protect her! But, right before she raced away, she froze. The most beautiful sound could be heard. She couldn't decide where it was coming from... the ceiling perhaps?

The music had grown louder. Was someone singing? It sounded like a young man's voice, but with the sweetest hint of an Angel. Diane stood in wonder, her eyes closed as the music lifted her soul practically out of her body.

Soon the man's song was so loud Diane felt her ears ring and her stomach vibrate with the sound.

"I am your Angel, don't you fear me. Worry not, dear Diane."

It was her mother's song! But she had never heard there lyrics before. And yet, it was so beautiful... Diane simply stood, drinking in the sound. And just as suddenly as she had heard the music, it stopped. Diane opened her eyes, and she wept. She wept for she had never heard anything so beautiful, and it had stopped, and she feared she would never hear it again.

Oliver, from behind the mirror, felt his heart break at her open, passionate sobs, and wanted to sing for her more. He had never realized his voice was so enchanting. All those years of nursing it and practicing made it wonderful. But, he had to say something. Afterwards Diane would wonder who had sung to her and just left.

"Don't cry, my darling. The Angel of Music has come to comfort you and teach you."

Diane sniffed and hiccupped. His voice... it was so sweet and tender.

"Angel...?"

Oliver hesitated. There was no going back now. What was he to say? Would this plan work? Would Diane fall for an Angel?

"Yes, your Angel. No one else's. I have come to teach you how to sing."

He said the phrase 'no one else's' with such forceful gentleness that Diane felt her heart soar. At first she could barely speak, but when the Angel said nothing, she feared it had gone away.

"Angel?"

"Yes?"

"You will not go away?"

"Never."

Diane sighed and sat down on her bed, rather flustered. She must be sick, or tired, or just insane. There was a voice in her head.

"Angel?"

"Yes?"

"I am not imagining you?"

"Of course not, trust me. Someday you may even meet me."

Diane smiled. "When?"

Oliver paused. Should he say what he was thinking? Would it be worth it? He gulped, swallowing his fears.

"When you love me."

xxxxxxXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxx

"Come on, you must meet him! He's so sweet and gentle and has the most beautiful voice!"

Diane was towing Adamo behind her, running in the direction of her room. Adamo had a disbelieving, flummoxed look on his face, but he ran along with her anyways.

"Wait, this man, his name is Angel?"

Diane was hastily turning her key in her room's door, but not too quickly to not give an exasperated groan.

"No, he is an Angel! He has been teaching me to sing all night! You must come and meet him!"

Diane truly did want Adamo to meet the Angel, but secretly, even to herself, she wanted to make sure she was not insane. If Adamo heard him as well, then she was just as sane as anyone else in the opera house. Well, not everyone.

The door flew open, and Diane stood right in the middle of the room, just as she had last night. She took a deep breath and sang the couplet that the Angel instructed her to sing when she wanted him.

"Angel of Music, hide no longer. Come to me strange Angel." Adamo marveled at her voice. It was actually a lot better than the last time he had heard her. Not that she had been bad or anything.

At first there was nothing, then all of a sudden a booming, glorious voice resounded through the small room.

"Wondering child, so lost, so helpless. Longing for my guidance."

Adamo almost jumped. Where had that voice come from? He looked to Diane, whose eyes were teary and a smile of pure joy was on her face.

"Angel, I would like you to meet Adamo," she called. Her voice echoed for a second, but then silence resumed its post. No one responded.

"Angel?" she called weakly.

Nothing. tears formed in her eyes, but this time of sorry and worry. Had her beloved Angel left her? She turned to Adamo, who had a disbelieving look upon his tanned face.

"I heard it..."

Diane nodded furiously. "He's left me... I'll never hear him again."

Adamo froze at the way Diane talked of this Angel. She was so passionate and caring...

"It doesn't matter. You don't need an Angel to teach you how to sing. You already know how."

Diane sniffed, and gestured towards the door, signaling that she wanted Adamo out.

"I just would like to be alone now, please..."

Adamo caressed her face lightly before shutting the door behind him.

Diane sobbed and collapsed on her bed.

"Oh, Angel..."

"Yes?"

Diane froze and sat up straight.

"Angel. Y-you are here?"

"I shall never leave you."

"But... you didn't answer me."

"I do not like that man. He is... untrustworthy."

Diane's eyes widened in surprise. "Adamo? Why?"

Oliver paused. It was bad enough that she had brought that rat in here without his knowing. He had revealed his secret.

"I have my reasons."

(Ah, and of chapter. I like this one as well. hell, I like the whole story!

Oli: Well, yeah! It's all about me! How could you not love it!

Ali: -stares for a moment- He has a point...) 


	8. A Welcomed Performance

(Ahhh, I have finally graduated from 8th grade! I'm a freshman! Whoo!... this is kinda empty. Anyways, I was busy all weekend cuz of that, but I'm back, and ready to type!

Oli: Finally! I was locked up in this stupid computer all weekend!

Ali: I'm sorry, but was nowhere near here. I couldn't let you out.

Oli: Do you have any idea how much I have to go?

Ali: -shakes head- I don't think I want to know...

Oli: You don't. I'm gonna go... relieve myself since most of this chapter has nothing to do with me. -runs off to the bathroom-)

Diane paced back and forth in those light, delicate slippers that were used around the stage. She was soon to sing. Currently she was out of sight as La Belle sang her large solo, her voice trilling around the opera house like a nightingale's tune.

Diane listened to the soprano's beautiful song and was startled back to reality when the audience applauded and the curtain dropped. La Belle was leaning against a prop, fanning her face with a well taken care of hand. The intersession lasted for only five minutes. Diane had to be ready. Women swarmed around her like bees, tightening her dress in places and fixing smudged rouge. Another brushed her hair once more, leaving it silkier and shinier than before, if that was possible.

Finally the orchestra started again, and Diane was ushered to the center of the stage. As the women rushed off, the curtain rose, and applause was heard echoing through the building. Suddenly, the butterflies that had haunted her stomach and the sweat that had poured from her brow no longer mattered. For there, in the crowd, were her parents and Adamo, applauding heartily and smiling.

Gemmé signaled her, and Diane filled her lungs and sang with the all the passion and power that her quivering body could possibly hold. And so it went.

But in the rafters, near the gigantic chandelier that gave the opera house so much of its splendor, stood a figure in the shadows. It was Oliver, in a blind spot of everyone who did not look straight up and squint. His head was tilted back, and tears flowed silently down his cheeks. His creation was beautiful, and that made him love her all the more. He sang with her quietly, his voice quivering with such love and compassion for the one he had taught. His gloved hands were shaking as he brought them to his face and wiped away his salty tears. She had to meet him! He had to tell her how much he loved her! But when? Where? How? As Diane's solo ended and she left the stage, Oliver decided upon the Masquerade that would soon take place on Christmas Eve. A perfect time to profess his love to her. he would even be allowed to wear his mask! It would be mandatory! Oh, he had so much planning to do! Oliver sighed happily and left his place through a door that was painted just like the walls.

xxxxxxXXXXXXXXxxxxxx

"She will see no one Mousier. I do not see why she would like to see a simple stagehand anyways."

Manager Tein stood in front of the thick door that led into Diane's dormitory, his massive bulk that had been trussed in finery blocking passage. Adamo sighed and turned away, letting his hand which held a bouquet of roses droop. After Tein was sure that no one would bother the Mademoiselle, he left, leaving Diane to her privacy.

Diane was undressing as he left, stroking the single rose that was in her hand. A black ribbon was tied around it, along with a letter. After she was in nothing but her night clothes, Diane slid open the red seal and read what was inside. It said:  
"My dearest Diane,  
You were beautiful, and almost angelic. I only wish we could meet, and that you could see me now. But do not worry. The time will come when you may meet your Angel face to face. For now, marry no one, and stay away from the stage rat. He is not worthy of you. Take the advice of an Angel, and leave him to a whore.

With the most love,  
Your Angel"

Diane stared at the letter, and read it over again to be sure she had read it right. Why did her angel hate Adamo so? She held the rose in her hand, gazing at it deeply. She turned to her mirror, and clutched the rose to her breast.

(Awww... I love Oliver so.

Oli: ...I love you too.

Ali: Really?

Oli: -nods, zippering up his pants after going to the bathroom-

Ali: -swoons again-

Ali: -ahem- Reviews are welcomed with open arms.

This one wasn't too long, but it is reath important, I suppose.) 


	9. Oliver Sort of Scores

(Ali: I'm sorry I haven't answered you question yet, Maska. But now I will. Oliver is 22. I did that math, and that is probably how he should be. I want my story to be accurate when it comes to the ages of my characters. Anyways, on with the story! 

Oli: I didn't know I was that old!)

Adamo embraced her further, kissing her neck and hair and stroking her cheeks with gentle power. Diane sighed and returned those kisses, but feared the stench that lingered on his breath: the stench of alcohol. He had been drinking again.

But she knew that he loved her. And she loved him. The look in his eyes when they were not shaded from wine. The way he stroked her hair.

And yet she feared him when he was drunk. She had seen him fight, listened to him curse. But he wasn't like that to her...

And her mother loved Adamo. She and Madame Giry were best of friends. Why shouldn't she like Adamo? Her father also had no objections, and he was the one that really mattered. But they had never seen Adamo when he was drunk. What would they say then?

Of course, he was such a sweetheart, even when he was full of liquor. Some things he said or did... Oh, she was still pure, and planned to remain so until she was happily married. It was just... the way he kissed her so tenderly, or the way he would whisper in her ear of the things to come.

But the idea of her Angel held her back. He said that she would see him when she loved him... Can you love an angel? His voice was so beautiful...

Diane's thoughts were dragged away from her Angel as Adamo caressed her neck, lowering his hand slowly. Soon his hand ran over her stomach, and the feeling was too great. She tilted her head back, and got the strongest whiff of the wine yet. She coughed and pulled away. She could not stand it!

Adamo, his eyes blurred and full of misty confusion, attempted to pull her back in.

But Diane stood from the statue's base, her lip trembling slightly. "I'm sorry. I just... I don't like it when you drink, Adamo..."

The young man hiccupped and tried to stand, only to fall back down to his bottom.

"Diane, wait... hic!"

Diane turned, tears flooding her eyes with a salty bitterness. She loved him, loved him so. But he could not control his addiction.

"I want to talk when you're sober."

And she left, down the many flights of stairs to her room where she would talk and sing with her Angel of Music.

Before Oliver quickly followed Diane to not disappoint her, he stuck out is tongue stubbornly at Adamo, adding a point to his scorebaord of wins and losses. Adamo: 6 Oliver: 2.

(Super short chapter! -cries- I wish it could have been longer...

Oli: I scored! I scored, I scored, I scored, I scored, I scored! -does a dance-

Ali: -stuffs sock into Oliver's mouth- No more victory dancing, got it?

Oli: -nods quickly-)


	10. The Plotting of Oliver

(Alright, I feel incredibly guilty. I was going through a poetry stage... Check out my Edward Scissorhands poem! I luff that poor guy. 

Oliver: I'm feeling left out.

Me: -gives a great, big, hug- Anyways, I'll try to write more story-wise, I know it's been a while. I have a plot in mind, and it was the amount of reviews I got that made me want to keep going. So thanks to all the reviewed, especially those that did while I wasn't writing. But I'm back, and my words are one fire! Woot!)

XXXXXxxxxxXXXXX

The manager, Tien, was a pious man, and did not believe in ghosts, goblins, or creatures of the night. So when a note, sealed with red wax shaped like a skull, he was a little surprised. As he opened the envelope, he even crossed himself in hopes of warding off and spirits. When nothing jumped out of the dark corners of his office, Tien looked down at the messy writing and started to read. The note said:

"Dear Manager,  
I am the opera ghost. I am the master of this house, and you are my servant. Now, you may not believe in phantoms, but I say that you start believing now. You are to leave box five open for my use, and I demand a salary of 10,000 francs a month. If these demands are not taken seriously, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. I also recommend that La Belle is to be replaced with Ms. Chagny. You will find my advice wise, as La Belle is getting on in age. If you do not believe in my existence, look in the second cellar, near a piece of Hannibal's stage.

Forever you Master,  
O.G."

Tien stared at the moment for a long time, reading over and over. Finally he got up, and crossed himself once more. This was something big. He had heard of the Phantom of the Opera House before. But... that opera house had been destroyed.. Who was this new ghost? Was he even a ghost, or was it some cruel prank? But who would want to prank a kind manager? Tien was known for his generosity, and for the kindness he showed to his singers, whether they were sopranos or just little ballerina girls. Who would want to do ill to him? At first he suspected Gemmé. He didn't like that he was forced to tutor little Ms Chagny. But, he liked it now. Ms Chagny had improved miraculously. In fact, it was like she had been taught by an Angel. Tien was even thinking of paying Gemmé more! He had done such a wonderful thing with Ms. Chagny!

Now Tien could think of no one that would have a grudge against him. Could it really be that there was a restless ghost in the opera house? What was he to do? People would think him mad if he obeyed to this specter's demands, but if he did not do as the phantom wished, he could end up worse for wear. So what was he to do?

xxxxxxxxXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxx

Diane sighed, stroking her hair for the umpteenth time. What was she to do? Adamo was on his way up to her room, to talk as they had planned. Well, not exactly planned. Diane had more demanded it.

"Angel?"

"Yes?"

"I am going to try to get Adamo to stop drinking."

Oliver's fears had been confirmed. He would have to make sure that the drunken rat would never get off the booze.

"Well, I have to wish you good luck. His love of the drink is quite strong."

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and the angel shut up.  
"Come in," Diane called softly.

The door creaked open, and Adamo peaked inside. He looked tired as if sleep had eluded him for days. He crept in, slinking down to sit on the edge of her bed.

"You wanted to talk to me?"

Diane's face was hard and impassive, and her voice wasn't any gentler.

"I want you to stop drinking. Now. When you drink you are rude, crude, and don't care for anyone but yourself. I won't see you again unless you stop."

It did not take her long to get to the point.

"Diane, I-"

"No excuses! Alcohol is a horrible poison, ruining your mind. I want it to stop!"

Adamo opened his mouth once more, ready to speak, but shut it, giving up.

"Alright, I won't drink anymore."

"Promise?"

"Promise. Cross my heart," he added, a childish grin on his face.

Oliver could take no more. Through his corridors he rushed, blindly running into corners and walls, making for the rooftop. He ignored the cobwebs and the rats, his mind on one thing; Diane.

It was cold outside, and the chill air made him gasp. Behind the mask with one hole his eye could be seen teary, whether from the cold or what he had just heard unknown. Perhaps both. He had thought that that whelp would have given into that addiction more. He had been wrong however. Adamo did not deserve her. Diane needed better, and Oliver knew that. But how was he going to get her to realize?

Oliver went to the balcony, leaning over and staring at the streets. And it hit him. There, down by the street was a poster for the Winter Masquerade. It would be there that he made his move. There he would trick Adamo back to drinking, and he could meet Diane. It would be perfect! He would fit in, for it was Masquerade, with masks!

The tears stopped flowing, and soft, sweet laughter came from his lips, erupting from his throat like molten passion. He had so much to do! So much to plan!

With that thought Oliver, the Phantom of the Opera, rushed off, down to the cellars where he would make his suit and his mask

XXXXXxxxxxXXXXX

Tien was in the cellar, repulsed at the amount of dust he found. Someone would have to come down and clean. He wasn't paying those janitors for nothing. Well, there he was, by the props of Hannibal. And where was this thing he was supposed to see to believe in the Phantom? The man sighed, brushing cobwebs away with his hat. He was the manager! He was not supposed to be in here!

Suddenly he heard a scuffling sound, and turned, looking into the corner filled with shadows. One shadow stood out among the rest, and Tien moved closer, rats scurrying away around his feet.

He gasped, for there, on the ground was the old caretaker, most certainly dead. He was flat on his back, and by the way the rats kept near, his body was already decomposing. But the thing that made Tien gasp was two letters written in blood on the man's shirt.

O.G.


End file.
